Mixed Messages
by 875265
Summary: After putting in many years of work within the company, Meg has finally been offered the position of her dreams and an opportunity of a lifetime… in China! With the paper plane by his side, will George find the resolve inside to hop aboard the train with her or will he be left behind on the platform like last time?
1. Chapter 1

**Ever since I first brought them together on** that train platform, George and Meg had become quite the promising little match. Commuting to work together, chatting it up in the coffee shop, walking in the rain, holding hands…

Aaaaah. Life was good. Everything was just how it was meant to be.

As a matter of fact, that's where they were now. At the coffee shop, that is. Their favorite, as a matter of fact, as they gave George's latte extra whipped cream and there were absolutely no rats in the kitchen. … _Yeaaaah. Life was -_

"George? Snap out of it. George?"

George blinked and I was yanked out of my reverie as well. He cleared his suddenly dry throat and loosened his collar. "Yeah?"

"Why are you staring at the wall? Is everything alright?"

"Oh yeah. No, yeah. Everything's fine."

"Well, what do you think?"

"About… ?"

Meg could beat him at a staring contest, hands down. Her huge eyes bore holes into him: a question. One that George had totally missed. "Sorry, it's kinda loud in here."

She grinned, shaking her head. That's what I liked about Meg; she was kind and good-natured and didn't roll her eyes when you asked her to repeat herself. All in all, she wanted to know what George thought about her new promotion she received not twenty minutes ago. The one where her boss - you know, the short stout mole-looking fellow - had promoted her to chief-of-staff of the company, which essentially would relocate her to Mars within a week. No I'm just kidding, not Mars. But China might as well have been that far.

(Hey, I'm a paper airplane! I have no concept of distance - the farthest I've been is to the edge of the Brooklyn Bridge.)

"George." Meg's eyebrows furrowed again as she waved in her just-friend's face; George was intensely studying the tiles on the wall again. That next wall tile exam was 60% of his grade, you know…

"Yes."

"Please. I need to know what you think."

"What do you mean? About whether I think you should take it?"

"Oh I'm going to take it," she said, like she had never been more certain of anything in the world. "I've been dreaming about this position ever since I moved to New York. I just need to know if you support me on this. You know, in case … "

Meg trailed off then, her eyes wandering over to the cluster of people singing Happy Birthday to a little boy who was sinking in his seat and trying to die. _How o-old are you? How o-old are you? How old are you, Juliuuuuus…_

 _Shut up!_ he finally yelled, and the whole café went really still. Leaving just the right amount of dead air for George to speak his mind. _Any century now…_

He threw up his hands. "Meg, I think this will be absolutely great for you. You know I do. I truly think you can do no wrong."

Meg's perfect smile sliced into her cheeks. "And I truly think you can say no wrong."

Well, this felt wrong. But George smiled back anyway.

Do you ever look at somebody and wonder: _What is going on inside their head?_

I DO! _Except for the fact that I happen to actually know, as I'm the omniscient origami aircraft of this story and anything is possible._


	2. Chapter 2

**That night, George got back to his cramped,** cluttered, close-quartered apartment and slammed the door, kicking the foot of his desk and hurting his little toes.

He plunked into his chair, yanking the newspaper from underneath his armpit and tried to relax. Skimmed the headlines…

 _Roosevelt Gives Last Address to Congress on Yalta._

 _Launch of Natter Fails - Killing Sieber._

 _Finland Declares War on Axis Powers._

Man, was this world going to trash. And that was not the only thing clambering to get into the dumpster - his social life was not too far behind either.

Meg had been his only friend. Like his _only_ friend in over fourteen years, give or take. Do you know how hard it was to find a genuine, decent person in New York City? ( _I'll answer that for you - very hard!_ ) And now she was about to be taken away, like everything good in his life. His childhood dreams of going backpacking through Europe, his goldfish Cleo, his stamp collection, and now the one person who made him smile in a not-sarcastic, indigestion-having way.

And for what. For China? What did China ever do for him, besides produce over half of the world's goods - including 93% of the things in his crummy abode right now. Honestly, George would have been a brooding mess if Meg had told him she was moving to Queens. Truth be told, George had lived in Manhattan all his life, and he had never gotten to go anywhere nor had he ever been anywhere and he wanted to leave it that way.

 _Bang, bang, bang!_

"Hey, knock it off with all that heavy breathing in there! How does ya expect a fella to get any sleep?"

George tipped back in his chair with his arm over his eyes, taking shallower breaths. _Who was he fooling._ Meg didn't need his approval - so why was she asking for it? She was going to be chief-of-staff of a global brand halfway across the world. He was a simple accountant. But it was the thought that counted, right? And he was good at counting.

To distract himself, George straightened the dispatch out to get a better look at it and shook it out and inadvertently tore it in half.

Boy, did George have bad luck with paper.


	3. Chapter 3

**At George's painfully boring job in his high** tower of tedium, his fingers hovered over the keys but worked to produce absolutely zilch on the typewriter. He was ready to give up on life already, and he'd only just had his morning coffee.

George snuck a sideways glance to the skyscraper across the street from his building. Dull window, dull window, dull window above that one, dull window above that one… until.

Streamers, balloons and confetti poured out of his favorite one. In the middle of all the hub-bub stood Meg in a party hat, gushing and flushing and blushing over all of her soon-to-be employees. He liked it when she blushed; it gave a little pop of color to his otherwise dull life.

He knew she really wanted that position.

"Little Georgie-Porgie. Gazing out at the horizon, into a better life again, are we? What a surprise."

George turned just in time to see a large stack of papers thunk down on his desk. Were those getting bigger?

"And those sheets are important - all of them. I don't want to catch you playing Paperman again."

 _Don't be defouling my name with your… foul mouth._

"We're actually trying to do something here." The boss slunk back into his office then, giving George the I'm-watching-you eyes about four times.

 _Do something here… Do something?_

Maybe that was it. Maybe he wasn't a total failure, after all. Meg was leaving on Saturday. It was only Wednesday. There was still time. Maybe he could get her to change her mind before it was too late.

And maybe separating a woman from her career in 1940s New York would be as easy as taking the meat out of a sausage without touching the skin.

George looked up to catch everyone in the office staring at him once again. He scowled - come on now, he wasn't that interesting. _Believe me._


	4. Chapter 4

**As Buddy Holly crooned away on** the record player, to further delay the 'why, why,' Meg invited George over to her place the next night for a dinner of burned steak, raw potatoes and asparagus that was cooked perfectly fine.

"So ahead of your time," George commented. "Inviting the man over, cooking dinner…"

"It's just who I am." Meg shrugged. "We've both been so busy lately. I wanted at least a little time with you… Speaking of which, how's accounting going?"

George lifted a shoulder. "It's accounting. Not nearly as interesting as what you do." He blanched at his destroyed dinner. "So… what's for dessert?"

She gasped. "I almost forgot. You're gonna love it." Over in the kitchen, Meg unwrapped a loaf and presented it like an ancient artifact.

"A sugar loaf?"

"It's crumb cake, silly! You took me to get some the day I met you, remember?"

"Oh, I remember. And the old lady in the table next to ours said, ' _I'd be careful if I were you. This place has a seedy reputation and when I worked here back in '12 I saw a rat jump out of the oven.'"_

"She didn't say that!" Meg shrieked, swatting a giggling George as she began to slice. "That is not what she said. She said - first of all, I don't even remember an old lady. She was an old man and he said, ' _That was the treat I ordered me gyalfriend and now dat dame's me wife!'"_

They fell into hysterics while I sat there, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It didn't have to. George dropped his eyes so as not to get lost in her mesmerizing gaze, and a pathetic mutter escaped: "Do you really have to go?"

Meg froze, her knife still stuck in the cake. "I live here."

"That's not, no… "

"You didn't mean… "

George shook his head. "No, of course not."

"Well, what did you mean?"

"Nothing."

"What did you mean? What did you say?"

" _Nothing - "_

"No, George, what did you say? I didn't - "

"I didn't say anything, it's fine and I hope you have a good life in China, alright? I hope you have a real swingin' time."

Meg blinked. "You don't have to be like that, George. Why are you… ?"

"Why am I what, Meg? Like what? Why am I what?"

Her mouth clamped resolutely shut.

" _What?_ You want me to jump up on the table and act all happy and la-di-da and do the Jitterbug? What do you want from me? How am I supposed to react?"

"How about congratulations? How about - " She stopped. Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. "... I just want you to be proud of me."

George let out a surprised guffaw. "Well - that's a laugh, because clearly you don't. Clearly it doesn't matter what I say, because you're just going to go ahead and do what you want anyway and forget about me. Why did you bring me here? And what's so great about them appointing a woman to chief-of-staff? _That's_ going to last long. I mean seriously, who gets that excited about their job? It's like you have no life. Are you really that lonely?"

 _Okay, that was bad._ George had raised his voice by the end of it and was actually standing up; it got so heated. Meg on the other hand, was calm - scary calm - and the room was silent. Even Buddy Holly stopped singing.

"Okay." She rose too and began collecting the dishes. "You can go now."

"Meg, I'm sorry - "

"Please just leave, George. I mean it."

"Meg - "

The dishes rained down into the sink and she whipped around. "Now, George. Leave _now._ "

Gosh. I don't think I've ever seen Meg so upset. I thought I saw her trembling! _Oh, it got so heated…_

George grabbed his coat and was out of the apartment like that. I followed him because I had no choice, having been unceremoniously shoved into his pocket and all. But not before I felt him flinch as the thunk of Meg throwing the entire loaf of crumb cake in the garbage echoed across the hall.


	5. Chapter 5

**After taking all of the next day to mope and** dope and attempt to cool down after the argument, George was a-strugglin'. He labored and toiled. He tore his entire place apart like a fool, trying to find a simple piece of paper on which to deliver an apology to the just-friend of his dreams, even though I was right outside his window. A little while later had passed, and the wastebasket was overflowing with aborted attempts at me -i.e. mangled paper airplanes - when all he had to do was just use the real McCoy.

George plunked down on his chair and took a long swig from a glass, having this despondent look on his face. Then he got really desperate and started flipping through the pages of the Yellow Book because of the lack of paper. Besides me being RIGHT HERE. _(Seriously; who has an office job in a skyscraper building and has zero paper in his house? Jerks, that's who.)_

All he had to do was look out the window. _Look out the window. Pretend you're at work and look out the window. Look out the -_

… _Hi._

George's head had done a 180 to find me ramming my tip against the window. He opened the latch and pulled me in - _that's right. And I know I am supposed to be an impartial observer and narrator and everything, but my value has been called into question and I won't have that._ Besides, I didn't want George to completely screw up and let Meg leave on a sour note either. She was nice to me, she was sweet, and she smelled like Maraschino cherries. When I ran into her face that one time and she left a lipstick mark on me, that was the closest thing akin to a kiss that I'll take it.

 _Write softly, please._


	6. Chapter 6

… **97, 98, 99, 100. Meg had finished running her** nightly strokes through her hair and she set the brush down. Usually this helped relax her, but her face looked anything but mellow - it was all pinched and saddened from the fight the night before, and that broke my heart. George was an idiot.

Meg prepared to do her ritual of falling back into her bed when I bonked my head against the outside of her window (Yeah, I've got to find a less painful way of getting people's attention).

She undid the latch and pulled me in, opening me to see the message scrawled in barely-legible handwriting.

 _Don't go_


	7. Chapter 7

**But she did. Or was set to, the very** next day - at 5:00 PM to be exact. Yeah, she found out on Tuesday and was set to pick up, pack up and leave the country on Saturday. Time moves fast in New York City, folks.

5:00 PM was the same time George's shift ended, and as soon as the clock ticked, the boy durn near broke his neck tearing out of that high tower of tedium worse than he had the first time he met that girl with the pretty smile on the subway. There was no way he was going to lose her again.

Without saying… something.

After running on foot, _getting_ nearly run over and being heckled fourteen times, he finally got to the station. Meg was standing there, by herself on the same exact platform where they met - in a cruel twist of fate. Except she didn't have that sweet, pleasant smile on her face like last time. Sigh. I sure missed that smile.

George doubled over, panting. "Hey." Once he regained his breath, he straightened up and got a good look at her. Despite himself, a relieved smile began to creep onto his face. "You didn't get on your train."

"It's been delayed. I needed time to think."

"Then I'm not too late." He approached tentatively, reaching out. "Meg…"

"No." She turned, walking away.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? I've been a real jerk to you and I wanted to apologize. Okay?"

Meg whirled around to face him. She parted those precious red lips, thinking of what to say. Then she closed them. Then she opened them again, then closed them again. "George, you're confusing me so much right now. I don't even know what to say."

"You don't have - "

"Which is it - do you want me to leave that badly?"

It was George's turn to act like a dying fish.

"Do you even like me?"

Hurt crossed his features and George softened his tone. "Of course I like you. That was never it. I just - "

"Then tell me the truth. Do you want me to stay or go?"

"I…" George let out a frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of his schnoz. "I just want you to be happy."

"You have a very funny way of showing it. Seriously, George, what was that? You were really coming after me last night."

"I know. I guess I was scared. And I'd never admit that to anyone, either." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked anywhere but her eyes. "Because I don't know. I guess I'm still just…"

Meg could wait. "... Yes?"

"I'm, uh." _Clear throat._ "I guess I'm just… " _Loosen tie._ "I… "

" _Yes?"_

 _Oh, for the love of all things origami, boy say it._

"IthinkImightbeinlovewithyou… ?"

Well, those were the right words alright, but they came out of the wrong mouth.

Meg opened the eye that wasn't screwed shut. George was staring at her in disbelief; she couldn't stop now. "Because my heart starts beating super-fast any time I see you. Or when I'm around you. And you're nice - well, when you're not acting crazy. And I care for your company. A lot."

"We-he-hell - sure know how to catch a guy off guard, don't cha?" George chuckled. Then in the next second, he sobered and closed the distance between them. "But for what it's worth, since we're making confessions now, I think I'm in love with you too."

Just like that, Meg's eyes lit up. "Come with me."

"What?" he laughed wildly.

"Do it! The train won't be here for another twenty minutes. You don't need to pack much. You can stay with me! The company will provide you with food, clothes, a place to live… "

"Slow down there, Eager McSeaver." He held his hands out. "Now you know I'd love to. You know I would. But… " George trailed off, gazing in the direction of the train.

BUT WHAT?!

 _Honestly, George - you want to be born, live and die in the same place? You've never been on the other side of anything. Where's your sense of adventure! When will you ever make a decision that changes your destiny? Why don't you just -_

"Who will be here waiting when you get back?"

… _Nice save._

Just like that Meg's face fell, and she rested her head on his chest. _This is where you wrap your arms around her, you doof._ Her shoulders were shaking, the poor thing.

"Hey." He stroked her head, never really much good with this. "Hey… What's this?"

"It's not fair. I'm gonna miss you," Meg wept. "I'm gonna miss you so much."

"I know." George kissed the crown of her head. "I know you will. But you don't have to cry. It's no big deal, right? I'll be waiting right here for you. Right here at this spot, okay?"

"Okay."

"And we'll have crumb cake and walk in the rain and do whatever you want when you come back, okay?"

"Okay."

"Just promise you won't miss me too much in the meantime. And that you won't…" A lump appeared in George's throat and his voice caught around it. "Don't cry."

 _Well, it was too late for that._

The blow of the train sounded in the distance, but neither of them moved.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Well of course they had to move sometime, and**_ _that's exactly what she did. Just picked up her briefcase and gave one last look and disappeared from sight. And George was left standing on the platform with me, all pitiful like last time._

 _And Meg had apparently lived it up and caused success after success for the company, I heard._

 _Well, I read. On myself._

 _Yes they played Paperman with me indeed, sending letters back and forth between continents, writing messages to each other and erasing what the other one wrote in order to reply. And I know that this is a very inconsistent way of sending notes to and fro, but they did what they had to do because I'm a sacred vessel. And I'm reliable. And I know my way around past the Brooklyn Bridge now. And the time mail takes to travel in New York City… ? Tuh. It's not like they had a better choice._

 _Speaking of time, this little Paperman exchange went on for about (Given that they write the date on me every five seconds, I deduce about… ) four years._

 _At last the time had come when the snow was gone and it was green in New York City. Our favorite stick-in-the-mud accountant has ditched his stuffy business suit for shorts and sandals, which was a good thing because I was beginning to forget what his legs looked like. In his hand, he holds a brown paper bag. I have a feeling I know what's in it, but you can never be sure…_

 _And our lady of the story is, wait for it - George didn't traverse blocks of hot sun to climb onto an empty train platform and stare at the tracks, wait for it - she's coming. (Why is the China to New York always so_ late? _How long does it take to drive to China anyhow?)_

 _Ah, here she is now. Hair a little longer, dressed a little warmer, but completely unchanged. Her face is still a canvas and the expressions painted upon it are still classic works of art. Shock that he actually remembered to wait for her at the exact same spot where they first saw each other. Relief. A lovely red grin._

 _George holds up the bag:_ "Hungry, princess?" _Ooh, I knew there would be crumb cake in it!_

 _Meg runs to him and melts in his embrace. They peck each other and hop off the platform and walk together into the sunset, taking turns feeding each other the sugary treat._

"It's not raining. Sorry about that," _George says and it takes me a minute to figure out what this guy is talking about._

"Oh, that's alright. How can I complain? So much happened to me over there." _Meg chatters on excitedly._ "More than I could ever hope to write on one sheet of paper." _She lay her head on his shoulder_. "We'll talk for days."

"I look forward to it."

"Did you miss me?"

"Nope."

 _Shove_. "Ha-ha."

 _He wraps an arm around her._ "Just kidding."

"I missed you too, George. A whole lot."

"Yeah." _George stuffs the last bit in his mouth, his eyes filling with tears._

 _And as for me, my work here is done._

 _Now, let's see… Who else in this city could use some real Bona Fide Origami Matchmaking? After four and a half years, I hope I'm not rusty!_


End file.
